


Contra Mundum

by Calesvol



Series: WIPs [2]
Category: Fabula Nova Crystallis: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Abuse, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Italian Mafia, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Occult, Past Relationship(s), Political Campaigns, Retelling, Slow Burn, Trans Ignis Scientia, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-05-04 04:23:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14584863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calesvol/pseuds/Calesvol
Summary: An exploratory story into what Final Fantasy Versus XIII may have been like, this story follows Noctis and his friends on his journey to not wed Luna, but to bring the war to Niflheim's door. Driven to be far darker than the source material, this tale seeks to give a dark, twisted tale based on reality.





	1. Electric in Your Blood

Warning(s): E, gory birth, body horror, cannibalism, animal death

 

* * *

 

Beneath the reaches of the earth existed a place older than time. Of craggy halls and corridors the light had forgotten its own name, where time wandered in utter delirium. In a vast chasm beneath the earth yawned a pith that rose into a domed ceiling, the floor beneath worn smooth by the footfalls of people ancient and recent. Clad in black robes, that seemed to have bled from the very shadows that enshrouded this place, as ruined and dark as Steyliff with ancient carvings glowing a feral, sick red within the curved walls. Colonnades marched in their severe procession towards a recessed indentation in the ground, stained with the rust of blood fresh and old, eons of sacrifice dying it black.

 

**THE** **Y COME.**

 

Figures amassed together as they began chanting in ancient Lucian, their voices raising into a pitch of a seamless chorus that reverberated cavernously. Before them, upon a raised dais did a singular man similarly hooded—his robes differentiated by accents of rusted gold that hung ornately off his shoulders—stand silently as he waited as a woman with a bare, tanned complexion sat nude upon a litter where gold flowers embroidered her hair and jewelry hung richly off her body as it did the High Priest’s.

 

Though she knew what was to come, she was not afraid.

 

The four pallbearers that bore her petite weight, interrupted only by the swollen womb like a globe on her lap, lowered her to the ground and the Priest offered his hand for hers to take. The woman’s, bedecked with heavy gold rings and strands of gold upon her arms, rose prettily from her litter and stood at the man’s side, eyes aglow as one possessed. Red as blood, as life and losing it.

 

The chanting suddenly halted with a passionate gesticulation of the man, the din of voices lingering like memory as it spanned long after their singers had ceased. The ring upon his ring finger, where a wedding ring might have once sat, glowed furiously as a tar pit opened in the recessed floor and those crowded close stood back.

 

A daemon like an ox crawled on elongated limbs and snapped its inky jaws, pure Starscourge leaking terribly from its maw and spilling to the ground below, a stink of decay rotting from its very form. Two spectral, amethyst orbs that denoted eyes snapped upon the visage of the one wielding it, a rumbling growl burbling in its chest as it slithered serpentine towards the ornately hooded man and the nude woman at his side. Spines upon its back crackled with electricity, almost warning a menacing violence despite being utterly transfixed upon the man and his glowing ring.

 

Closing his hand did the daemon halt all movements, as if it had been trapped in a timeless place. The hooded man threw back his hood, revealing an almost ordinary-appearing man with slicked black hair and piercing green eyes glare without faltering upon the daemon, his narrow face set with conviction whilst the beautiful woman at his side watched him silently.

 

“Heed me, beast,” Regis Lucis Caelum whispered fiercely, striding towards the daemon as his hand manifested the Sword of the Wanderer, but one of the blades. The daemon was hapless as the man stood before it, brandishing it with a cry and deftly slashing its throat. The beast squealed in pain and crumpled to its forelegs, gasping errant as its tar-black blood gushed in a widening pool about it, Regis letting the Sword dissipate and standing before it. Eventually, the daemon collapsed and the blood shone, dark as pitch and reflecting the ensconced crystals suspended throughout the interminable chamber.

 

“Hear me as I beseech thee, Mother of Reapers, Goddess of Chaos and Death! I come before you with your servant, and as your High Priest, I demand you listen to my plea!”

 

The moment those words were uttered did the daemon’s corpse sink into the pool of its own blood as if the floor were becoming uncommonly deep. From it, a skull stories tall emerged and in its hollowed sockets did flammeous orbs of red ignite and the jaws of the apparition began screaming a damning hymn the disciples of the King began repeating and echoing, the tone rising to a deafening pitch.

 

**I AM HERE. WHERE IS SHE?**

 

In the cavernous, vaulted ceilings above did an enormous skull loom, with hellion bright eyes all deduced to be none other than the skull of Etro that was the kingdom’s official symbol. Below, the skull spoke with a crackling, disembodied voice in a language unintelligible, Aulea herself letting a wave of pain break her as she fell to her knees and clutched her womb. In a desperate attempt did she lay prone upon her back, her regal composure buckling by perspiration and wails of pain as contractions shook her lithe form.

 

The acolytes surged forth, several of them crowding around the woman while spectral hands extended from their sleeves, for these summoned were of the ether and non-human, no faces beneath their hoods except a chill wind were one to become too close to their persons. They inexorably hoisted Aulea into the very air, her braids and ornamentation suspended like strands of a chandelier while her possessed eyes seemed to bleed into her very bones with their preternatural light.

 

“Aulea, I’m…sorry but this must be done,” Regis whispered, the skull raging in a tempestuous tone as the king stiffened and listened, eyes aglow in their hellion red. When they did, a pall of chill seemed to wash over them both, nebulous and faceless dead hovered their hands over Aulea’s womb, the woman pitching into hysterics as she felt them worm within her, branding her child. She could feel it.

 

“ _Regis!_ ” she wailed miserably, the hooded spirits beginning to chant as tears streaming down her cheeks and pale face reddening from the pain she felt. “Please stop this, Goddess—stop this madness!” Her caterwauls pitched higher and higher, the king feeling streaks of salt and moisture sting down his own cheeks.

 

**CUT THE BABE FREE.**

 

The skull above, angled towards them, clicking its jaws as it uttered its mad command. Regis fell silent as he hauled away the jewelry to the line beneath her breasts, Aulea unable to do anything in her frenzied panic as Regis summoned a dagger from his Armiger, mouth set in a firm line as he brought it inexorably down and made the first incision into her womb. Callously did he cut while the phantoms held Aulea down, she thrashing and screaming from the pain while Regis gouged her from sternum to pelvis, careful to keep the baby intact. Cutting through the skin, the oozing placenta, until the bloody outline of the baby inside was revealed. Aulea still gushed blood, losing consciousness fast.

 

Regis dipped bloody hands into his wife’s womb, gently lifting the still quiet child and severing the umbilical chord. He patted the infant until it began to cry, rising in volume with terror from the horror of Etro’s skull fiendishly looming above them.

 

Regis blinked slowly, tears forming in his eyes as his teeth grit, holding his wailing son while Aulea was unconscious and losing life fast. “This sins of our forefathers must be paid in blood,” the king murmured blankly, blinking back salty trails as tears with a worrying lower lip. The spirits swarmed over Aulea, Regis stepping back as he watched his wife’s body lifted into the air, Etro’s jaws snapping wide in suspension as her body hovered towards it, then devoured in a bloody snap. Regis staggered back as he watched Etro devour his wife, crude and bloody and with all the voracity of a predator with limbs snapping and bony popping emanating from the cruel Goddess’ maw.

 

 

The king almost fell to his knees, turning to his son who grew inexorably quiet, expression morphing to one of disbelief as the infant’s eyes peeled open, a shade of red darker than any Lucian he’d remembered. “It’s been done. You have your vessel, your blood sacrifice—your son. Now leave my kingdom in peace,” the king said brokenly, unable to shout it at the malevolent specter. Finishing with her sacrifice, Etro honed her gaze upon the king before disappearing in a flash of light.

 

Regis limped from the sacrifcial chamber, dark consuming it entirely and leaving only the dispersing faithful in his wake, fast fleeing through the hidden byways from whence they’d come.

 

And yet, where the king sought escape, from the back entrances did an infantry of Magitek soldiers flood and butcher every hooded figure, guns and blades blazing whilst flamethrowers cast away the darkness and putrid rot of the daemonic sacrifice like a banishing cleanse.

 

The king fought them, but they cornered the king and his caterwauling son still cloaked in blood. From the infantry did a man of vivid maroon hair emerge with a lion’s eyes of gold, his own Armiger of red clashing with the king’s whilst spells of blackness and despair fended the hapless monarch away. They fought, these two kings, until Regis knelt prone and defeated, clutching Noctis by but an arm whilst the black-clad stranger tsked and extricated the babe free in his own arms.

 

“Really, Regis, you ought to have known by now. Resisting will only get you killed, and this…ridiculous affair will ruin you. Why not leave the boy with me, hm? He’ll be quite safe, I assure you.”

 

And thus, the king was given no choice but to comply.

 

* * *

 

__Drip. Drip. Drip._ _

 

_**Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.** _

 

In caverns weathered by time, in a place forgotten by all but one, is a boy.

 

The boy was completely and utterly alone.

 

The room he is in is as high as a cathedral with a great dome in its center with mosaics of chipped heroes, valiant, charge into an endless race around the mosaic ring in pursuit of a demon, lost to the ravages of time and sits dejectedly among piles of rubble. The walls once held beautiful crystal sconces of unimaginable color are now dark with encroaching mold, their light stolen from them in ages past, like a speechless man. A rift in the ceiling is held steady by creeping roots with enormous as twisting trees, streams of light filtering through to provide the only source of light. There is a massive wall of rounded stone, slate, and its base is an abyss that was once a contained well lost lone ago sat at the bottom of the shimmering, almost florescent abyss. The roots had grown sporadic down the wall, creating a foothold on which the boy desperately clings to, like a feline to a tree.

 

Particles of dust dance the beams of light that manage to seep through, around fluted columns that bloom like lilies into the stone ceiling, in the wide center, and in the path of the hero of valor. The gnarly roots placidly hold the boy as he assiduously works, cobalt hair matted by sweat and brows creased in determination. He is perhaps in his eighth year, nearing the end of his boyhood, not yet ready to embrace the future.

 

His hands clench a stone with the fervor of one driven mad, soft skin torn and bleeding, but he is unaware. His long hair gleams like strands of metallic thread, halo moving in time with his rocking movements. His eyes like a crystal rubies dart back and forth, studying this and righting that. _Why is he working with such desperation?_

 

 _ _This symbol is the key to your survival; remember it so that when the time comes, you will know. It shall protect you and lead you to greatness,__ an omniscient voice murmurs in that dream, that dream like a prophecy.

 

In that dream, he saw so many disconcerting things; ruined buildings corrugated by steal, shards of glass littering the streets. A horizon of complete and utter ruination plagues this familiar place, a restive moon donning an ethereal light that sickens the survivors of the mass destruction. The city of stunning modern build would be lost to tragedy if it would not be stopped. But there is more to the dream; faces he's never seen, places he's never been, and a person familiar to him gazing at him with such unbridled ferocity.

 

There is a woman as well, who is very precious to him, whom he knows now and she is poised to fight, sad reluctance holding her back. And yet that brandished gold trident goads his falchion to action, engine affixed to it, and they stand off.

 

__No matter what, this cannot be avoided._ _

 

Tears shining and streaming, the boy cries. It has yet to pass and already he is overwhelmed by emotion. He thinks of his friends, people so dear to him, and of that blonde girl, so precious to him. Must they be lost to an inevitable future?

 

The shakes away those thoughts and continues working, white streaks making a dissonance in the abysmal place. This place is one filled with memories, of happiness and anguish, and yet he can see them as vividly as if it were happening now.

 

People strangely garbled flow in and out of the walls, luminous specters of the past. A time reel continuously flows and the boy is overwhelmed.

 

 _ _This is but a taste of what you will come to possess,__ the voice soothes, trying to quell his fears with company. __You will find the strength to resolve the future.__

 

Throwing down the worn, white stone, skittering into a dark place, the boy jumps from his perch. He furiously wipes his eyes, set with resolve, and gazes upon the symbol he has drawn.

 

A gyro of a language unknown to him swirls around a faded, curled wing. Many other symbols can be seen, but even the boy is unsure of what he has just drawn. In the pale light it takes on a celestial, fluorescent blue glow, but natural light shouldn't be able to do that. He gulps, unsure of what he has just scrawled upon the ancient wall.

 

__Did I not tell you what it was?_ _

 

The boy shakes his head, trembling. Dropping the stone, courage plummeting, the boy dashes from this grand room, down a narrow hall, charging deeper into the darkness more welcoming than an ominous future.


	2. It's Never Enough

Warning(s): G, None

* * *

 

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

_Scrape. Scrape. Scrape._

In caverns weathered by time, in a place forgotten by all but one, is a boy.

The boy was completely and utterly alone.

The room he is in is as high as a cathedral with a great dome in its center with mosaics of chipped heroes, valiant, charge into an endless race around the mosaic ring in pursuit of a demon, lost to the ravages of time and sits dejectedly among piles of rubble. The walls once held beautiful crystal sconces of unimaginable color are now dark with encroaching mold, their light stolen from them in ages past, like a speechless man. A rift in the ceiling is held steady by creeping roots with massive proportions, streams of light filtering through.

There is a massive wall of rounded stone, slate, and its base is an abyss that was once a contained well but the embankments of stone were lost lone ago and sits at the bottom of the shimmering, almost florescent abyss. The gluttonous roots have grown sporadic down the wall, creating a foothold on which the boy desperately clings to, like a feline to a tree.

Particles of dust dance the beams of light that manage to seep through, around fluted columns that bloom like lilies into the stone ceiling, in the wide center, and in the path of the hero of valor. The gnarly roots placidly hold the boy as he assiduously works, hair matted by sweat and brows creased in determination. He is perhaps in his eighth year, nearing the end of his boyhood, not yet ready to embrace the future.

His hands clench a stone with the fervor of one driven mad, soft skin torn and bleeding, but he is unaware. His long hair gleams like strands of metallic thread, halo moving in time with his rocking movements. His eyes like blood dart back and forth, studying this and righting that. Why is he working with such desperation?

 _This symbol is the key to your survival; remember it so that when the time comes, you will know. It shall protect you and lead you to greatness,_ an omniscient voice murmurs in that dream, that dream like a prophecy. The voice of a goddess, like a mother.

In that dream, he saw so many disconcerting things; ruined buildings corrugated by steal, shards of glass littering the streets. A horizon of complete and utter ruination plagues this familiar place, a restive moon donning a nauseating, bloody glow sickens the survivors of the mass destruction. The contemporary city would be lost to tragedy if it would not be stopped. But there is more to the dream; faces he's never seen, places he's never been, and a person familiar to him gazing at him with such reluctant antagonism.

There is a woman as well, who is very precious to him, whom he knows now and she is poised to fight, sad reluctance holding her back. And yet that brandished gold rapier goads his Engine Blade to action and they stand off.

_No matter what, this cannot be avoided._

The boy weeps. It has yet to pass and already he is overwhelmed by emotion. He thinks of his friends, people so dear to him, and of that blonde girl, so precious to him. Must they be lost to an inevitable future?

He shakes away those thoughts and continues working, his carving and scraping making a dissonance in the abysmal place. This place is one filled with memories, of happiness and anguish, and yet he can see them as vividly as if it were happening now.

People strangely garbed flow in and out of the walls, luminous specters of the past. A time reel continuously flows and the boy is overwhelmed.

 _This is but a taste of what you will come to possess,_ the voice soothes, trying to quell his fears with company.  _You will find the strength to resolve the future._ _Why doesn’t he believe her?_

Throwing down the worn, white stone, skittering into a dark place, the boy jumps from his perch. He furiously wipes his eyes, set with resolve, and gazes upon the symbol he has drawn.

A gyro of a language unknown to him swirls around a faded, curled wing. Many other symbols can be seen, but even the boy is unsur. In the pale light it takes on a celestial, fluorescent blue glow, but natural light shouldn't be able to do that. He gulps, unsure of what he has just scrawled upon the ancient wall.

_Did I not tell you what it was?_

The boy shakes his head, trembling. Dropping the stone, courage plummeting, the boy dashes from this grand room, down a narrow hall, charging deeper into the darkness more welcoming than an ominous future.

* * *

**_Hours later_ **

**_Luna Parvulus, the Dukedom of Caliga, Galahd, Kingdom of Lucis_ **

"Prince Noctis! Oh bless my heart, I worried terribly about you! Where have you been? Come, come, let's get you all cleaned up."

Noctis, the boy, was trembling despite the warmth of the upper world. He had desperately bandaged his hands with old cloth in order to hide the wounds, but his keen-eyed guardian, Rosarum, had immediately caught on. She knew this boy from birth and she knew him well. At her side, his oldest and dearest friend, Ignis, waited with a pensive and worried look in his green eyes.

She was dressed in what looked to be a nun's habit, white and tan, although it was by no means for religious purposes. Her face was kindred with age, but her emerald eyes always had an intelligent gleam. She was fiercely protective of Noctis, who had become something of a son to her, and as thus she saw to it that he never stepped out of line. Rosarum glanced down at Ignis, placing a hand on the older boy’s shoulder. “And you worried dear Ignis, my dear.”

Noctis took Ignis’ hand, small fingers curled around like a lost child. He kept his gaze to the floor, eyes darting between the shoes that flicked out from under her long dress whenever she took a step and his own stumbling feet. “…Sorry for disappearing like that, Iggy.”

“It’s okay. As long as you’re safe, Noct.” He sounded so gentle.

The halls they walked through were high and narrow, rich white marble paving the floor and columns that blossomed into high domes were avoided. Between the recesses the columns made were large portraits of the rulers of old, people Noctis was related to, as well as entryways into similar halls, each containing a plethora of rooms. Clear windows overhead let in an azure sky while massive crystal chandeliers spiraled downwards like Turritella shells. Natural light made them sparkle every conceivable color of the spectrum, casting orbs of color on the floor and walls like playful faeries.

Caliga always had been a beautiful place. The seat of House Izunia, the precursor to the Lucis Caelums, its capital of Luna Parvulus was like something out of a fairytale and built exactly in style of Tenebrae, especially its own Fenestala Manor. A place founded a sort of wedding present to the first Oracle, Gentiana Fleuret, from Somnus Lucis Caelum, it had been the ancestral place of peaceful conventions between House Caelum and House Fleuret for generations.

At least, that’s what his grandmother, Aellai Izunia, had told him years ago before she’d passed away. Grandpa Mors had never really cared for history, she’d joked, but Noctis knew she missed him greatly.

“Hey, Noct?”

“Yeah, Iggy?” Noctis replied when the trio took pause, both training gazes on the older boy.

“Um…I’ll wait until you’re done, okay? I think Rosie wanted me to lay out some clothes for you, while you bathe and stuff.”

Noctis smiled at his friend and reached out to poke Ignis’ cheek. “Okay, Iggy! I’ll get done really fast, then!” He couldn’t help it; they were inseparable, after all.

“Oh, we hope you get done in time, little prince! I know how much you enjoy the bubbles!” Ignis gave a small laugh and Noctis made a face, embarrassed, but feeling happy.

Shoes echoing resoundingly, Rosarum briskly walked into a set of open, lacquered wood doors inlaid with curling iron designs with Noctis and Ignis in tow. Opening a secondary set the three of them entered the young prince's bedroom.

The room was circular in shape, domed like many others, hewn from warm beige marble. A cathedral ring of columns arched gracefully to touch the sky. There were recesses between each wall bound column that held in their depressions statues of the Archaean deep in thought and Shiva clothed in flowing robes in delicate pose, something out of the Genesis painting. The four poster canopy bed stood at the center, black curtains bound to their posts. The extravagant silk sheets were of muted cream and spared no expense of the young prince's comfort.

Ignis detached from them and began digging through the dresser and wardrobe for the prince’s clothing, leaving Rosarum and Noctis to the task of bathing.

Rosarum skirted around a large desk and wardrobe and flung open another set of elegant doors into a bathroom as large as the bedroom.

It, too, was circular in shape. A rounded, inlaid bath more like a fountain pool lay in the center, steaming and embanked by warm stone. A light fixture hanged from the zenith of the dome, metal and orbs of light twisting beautifully together and casting a warm glow on cordial marble. A ring of stained glass above was in the forms of inky fishes and rippling water of frosty blue glass, the sunlight casting scales of blue light below.

The marble in here was of a dull burgundy veined by white that seemed to grow warmer in light. A large mirror sat in one corner while a large sink, too large for normal use, sat in another. All was made from stone or marble, a trait overly common in what was supposed to be a modern utopia.

"Alright, m' prince, why don't you take off these ruddy clothes and get yourself bathed? I'll take them to the laundry quarters. If you don't take a bath, I'll know," she said, kneeling down to look Noctis at eye level. “Don’t keep Iggy waiting too long, hm?”

Complying, Noctis walked over to a hidden changing room and closed the door before removing all of the soiled clothes. He pulled on a long bathrobe and girdled it tight, then stepped out with the bundle of soiled garments in his arms. Rosarum gladly took them, smiling warmly at Noctis.

"I'll be back in a jiffy, alright?" she said before turning around, robes swishing as she closed the door softly behind her.

Glaring at the water, Noctis timidly stepped to its edge, frowning and testing the heat with his toe. Recoiling at the spike in temperature, Noctis frowned and his glare deepened.

"Why do I have to take a bath?" Noctis groused softly, swirling the glass-smooth water with his finger. Remembering the taunts of his immaturity from a close friend, Noctis puffed his chest exaggeratingly. He sat and submerged his legs up to his calves; he gritted his teeth in resolve. Slipping off the edge into the fairly deep water, Noctis splashed resoundingly, flailing his arms until they rested on a submerged ledge. Gasping for breath, hair limp and blocking his eyes (which he quickly moved aside), he took deep breaths, trying to calm his fluttering heart.

Finally calm, Noctis removed the heavy and wet robe, having accidently dragged it in with him. The water cleansed his skin well enough as well as his hair, though he still went through the whole routine. Clean of all dirt, blood, and grime, Noctis heaved himself from the tub and toweled himself as dry as possible, hair still a little damp. He found another robe to wrap around himself and proceeded to the mirror.

Availing himself before it, he could see that his hair was still hopelessly spiky, springing back into place. It was a strange metallic blue, unusual from the browns and blondes of other people. His face wasn't sharp and angular like his friend, or more…developed like Ignis’; instead it was soft and still rounded, but was beginning to lose that trait.

"Oh, good, you're done, m' prince!" came Rosarum's jovial and warm voice. Noctis whirled around, a smile alighting his face. He ran to her and clamped on to her arm, face colliding with her shoulder.

"You've become very handsome; I can't believe you're not that sweet little baby anymore. Ah, you're such a treasure." Noctis looked up to his beloved nanny. “I’m certain little Ignis agrees, hm?”

"Please call me Noct, like you used to," Noct said, smiling warmly. “Like Iggy does!”

She burst into laughter. "Oh, you little rascal! I'll get in trouble if I do."

Noct looked thoughtful for a moment. "Prince Noct?" he reasoned. “Iggy does that sometimes, too!”

"Alright, I'll call you 'Prince Noct.'" Noctis let go of her arm, beaming.

"Oh! I almost forgot! Lord Ravus and Lady Stella are here. Aren't you excited? Come; let's get you all polished up."

Noct froze; Stella was here. His heart began thumping loudly at the thought of seeing his best friend who he recently began having a crush on. She was twelve to his eight and positively radiant. He adored her kind smile and lively personality. There was something else, like they had a deeper connection, but he couldn't reason why. Though he’d always been so close with Ignis, Stella was different. And he was going to see her, again!

Urging himself to calm down, he took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

_Older Stella brandishing a gold rapier._

Noct shook his head, pushing away that awful thought.

"Prince Noct? Time to get dressed."

Noctis opened his eyes, and to his abject horror, Rosarum held a flowing, long emerald dress coat, stiff looking matching pants and a complicatedly designed shirt. He swallowed; he hated dressing formally almost as much as he hated taking bathes.

Ignis looked a little sheepish, having been the one to choose them in the first place. “Sorry, Noct, but your father wanted you to wear them.”

It was always his dad! Always so stuffy, even though he wore suits all the time! Why didn’t he have to wear the ceremonial robes?

Reluctantly taking the clothes into the changing area, closing the door, he removed the bathrobe and put on the appropriate undergarments before hauling up the suede pants, pulling over the long shirt and finally pulling on the ankle-length robe which wasn't supposed to be girdled. He tied on a pair of starchy black boots and laced them, toes being mashed together.

Exiting the room he groaned loudly, bemoaning the restrictive clothing.

Rosarum clapped her hands in delight and ushered Noct again to the mirror. The outfit made him look older, sure, but he wouldn't be able to do much. Ignis stood beside him and helped tug down this, tighten that, and brush away stray wisps of hair.

"You look even more handsome!" she squealed, soothing creases and invisible wrinkles with obsessive care.

Noct gave her a look of comic anguish, a shadow of despair hooding his eyes. Ignis looked paologetic, sincerely. Then again, he’d always had a superbly soft spot for his friend.

"You want to look nice for Stella, don't you?"

Noctis quickly changed his outlook, imagining Stella gushing over how cool he looks and immediately changed his outlook on the snazzy clothes. Well, almost immediately.

Rosarum laughed at his sudden change of heart, always seeming to know how to change Noctis's perspective on things. That, or the task fell on ignis. Barely keeping secrets from each other, Ignis almost always anticipated what was needed for Noctis. He was so, so reliable like that.

"Come along now; don't want to keep them waiting."

Noctis gladly acquiesced and flew from the room, Rosarum struggling to keep up.

“Oh, Noct?”

Noctis stopped dead in his tracks, skidding to a halt when his friend addressed him. He was always bound to listen where Ignis was involved. “Yeah, Iggy?”

“Uncle Jovian wanted to see me today. I’m sorry, but I can’t come with you to see Lord Ravus or Lady Stella.”

Ignis looked apologetic again, especially when he caught sight of the disappointment on his face.

“Oh, okay. I’ll tell them you said hi. It’s okay. Luna couldn’t come, either.”

Ignis looked grateful, if a little crestfallen. “Lady Lunafreya has her Oracle training to attend to. I’m pretty sure she’d love to be here with us, Noct.”

Rosarum smiled gently at the pair. “Don’t you either worry about anythin’. I’m certain today will lovely for all of you, regardless.”

“You’re right. Thank you, Rosie. And see you later, Iggy!”

* * *

The day was as beautiful as it looked through the windows.

The sky was a beautiful turquoise color, clouds floating aimlessly like leaves swept along a river. A massive lawn spanned before him, gardens of flowers of every variety planted and hedges trimmed with the utmost precision. Beyond the gardens was the border between lawn and forest, both kept immaculately in line. Cobblestone paths cut through the maze of flowers and small trees; the odd sculpture of some prominent figure of old standing in defiance to the sky.

The emerald leaves of the interminable number of trees chattered in the many warm breezes while dappled shadows rested on the forest floor below. The grand presence of the castle loomed before all, a sentinel of sentinels watching over wood and city. Luckily the sun's position in the heavens provided that the castle's shadow didn't overshadow the delightful gardens or the three young children who wished the gambol among the scenery.

Beyond even that, the Sea of Galahd scintillated on the horizon, reminding them they were still a ways from the Crown City of Insomnia.

Noctis descended the wide stone stairs, ignoring Rosarum's warnings to be safe. He practically ran down, eager to meet his friends below.

As soon as his foot touched green turf, the padding of feet over grass flew in his direction.

" _NNNNoooooctiiiisssss!_ " came the stream of his name, sourcing from a pretty preteen girl, a mane of billowing gold in her wake as she ran. Launching herself to the young prince, Stella latched her arms around his neck, smiling childishly.

Noct, unable to speak coherently, gulped. He returned the embrace shyly.

"Oh, hey Stella,” he stuttered at last, patting Stella's back. Beaming, the older girl, already a bit taller, quickly released Noct so that he could regain his composure.

"I'm so glad to see you again, Prince Noctis! " she said, smiling genuinely. Her violet eyes caught the sunlight beautifully, entrancing the young prince for a moment. Today she wore an almost identical outfit to his, only it bore the colors of her kingdom, Tenebrae, and instead of pants she wore a skirt. “Luna says hello. She was sad she couldn’t be here, but she wishes you well.”

Aside from the fact that she was Luna’s fraternal twin sister, they looked almost exactly alike, save for her ash blonde hair and violet eyes that contrasted to Luna’s blonde hair and blue eyes.

Raucous laughter broke the silence, emanating from a a platinum blond youth. Ravus Nox Fleuret was prince from the kingdom of Tenebrae and Noctis's other best friend, and the girls’ older brother. His choppy, short hair was buzzed down, stormy grey eyes dancing in delight. He wore an outfit identical to Noctis's, again with the colors of his beloved forest kingdom.

He was the oldest of them at sixteen. Already his face was beginning to sharpen and become angular, voice not yet deep. He was a head taller than Noct and towered over Stella.

Yet that never deterred Stella from showing off her vivacious spirit.

"Ravus!" Stella cried, stamping her feet and crossing her arms. "Leave Noct alone!"

Noct waved his hands, as if trying to placate the fiery girl, only she proceeded to stomp over to Ravus and give him a piece of her mind.

"Sorry Stella, it's just that Noct—" he choked out between bouts of laughter "—he's really hilarious to me now for some reason!"

Stella scowled, hand reaching to grab a tuft of hair and yank it. Ravus yelped loudly, eyes locked with Stella's fierce ones.

"I'm sick of you bullying and teasing Noct! Go say you're sorry," she ordered, still clenching his short hair.

Awkwardly bent over, Ravus's grey eyes locked with Noctis's. "Stella, it's what friends do. We always—"A yank "—Okay! I'm sorry, Noct! You happy now?" his last words directed at Stella. She tossed him away, unsteadying Ravus, and smiled smugly.

Prancing over to Noct, she grabbed his hand. "Let's get away from him and this place," she whispered conspiratorially, glancing towards the forest.

"What are you doing?" Ravus.

"Now!"

Before Noctis could even blink, Stella was off him a shot, towing Noctis at breakneck speeds. They tore through the gardens and out to the border and into the darkening woods. Noctis could hear Ravus shouting after them to stop, but for once he was glad to be alone with Stella.

They ran quite a way until the castle receded and faded completely from view.

"Ah, alone at last." Stella ambled around a tree with great roots, humming delightfully to herself.

Noctis looked around nervously. The trees here were thick enough for several people to hug, hands touching. Long and wide branches thickened and split like a river delta, umbrage nearly blocking out the sun entirely. The canopy was thick with a ceiling of leaves that let in only fragments of sunlight, the rest of the ground cloaked in shadow. Massive roots spurt from the ground, interrupting the surface like coiling snakes, providing for unsteady walking ground. Noctis carefully picked his way around brambles and jutting roots, making way to Stella.

A deafening crunch suddenly filled the forest.

Stella clung to Noctis who put a hand to her back.

"I think we should leave, Stella." Her head pumped up and down in agreement.

A scuffling of weak roots heaved inwards, creating an abyssal drop. Noctis' arms flew around Stella and her's around him.

Both screamed with terrific might in the quiet forest as the ground gave away and they were swallowed by the black maw.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Last thoughts: If you’ve wondered if you’ve seen this before, or if it’s recognizable, it’s likely because you have. Before, this fanfic went under the title of Legend Lost on FFnet, and recently—as of last year—as Various Storms & Saints here on AO3. 
> 
> Thing is, I’ve come to recognize that both previous iterations were still incomplete—hence why I orphaned VS&S and am starting afresh. Thanks to an RP blog I started up on tumblr, I’ve been able to expand and improve upon old ideas drastically and reimagine a continuous story that I’ve been building since 2010. Like XV itself, while it’s gone through some drastic overhauls, my hope is this iteration will be the final and complete a story a decade in the making. 
> 
> Considering the fact that FFvs13 was announced twelve years ago today, it hasn’t felt like a more appropriate time and I hope you’ll be willing to experience the journey with me!


End file.
